Seriously. How is it possible we’re having the best summer ever and all I want is a rainy day — on the weekend to boot.
I know. Madness. But hear me out. If it doesn’t rain soon, on a weekend, I am never going to have a clean house. It’s not that I can’t clean the house on a nice day, obviously. It’s that I don’t want to. I am conditioned, as we all are I imagine, to get outside and take advantage of a nice sunny day. Who knows when the next one will be along, right?
At least that’s what I used to think, until this glorious summer happened. It’s taken a while to convince me, but I’m pretty sure now that the next sunny day won’t be the last. I don’t feel like I have to be outside from sun up to sun down anymore, just in case.
So if the next one isn’t the last one, why can’t I just stay inside and clean? Because it’s too hot.
There. I’ve said it. For the record. It is just too hot.
I know. I’m never happy. I whine and complain about the cold for eight months of the year, give or take — and now I complain about the heat. There’s just no making some people happy.
But come on. Am I wrong?
I guess if you live in an apartment, like me, you might feel my pain a bit more than others. Obviously there are differences between living in an apartment and living in a house, but the thing I miss the most, I think, is the distinct lack of a cross breeze — or any breeze at all, for that matter. There is just something so refreshing about opening the windows wide and letting the wind blow through. It both cools down the place and fills it with clean, fresh air. (Not to sound like a Tide commercial!)
In our apartment, the window in the bedroom and the patio doors off the living room are on the same side of the apartment, which means zero cross breeze. Which also means the apartment is hot — really hot. While we have a life-saving portable air conditioner in the bedroom, and a large, industrial(ish) fan in the living room, it’s still hot in there. And when the humidity is eight billion per cent, it’s hot and sticky. Perfect conditions for vacuuming, wouldn’t you say? Not!
I have managed to keep up with the every-day housework during this crazy-hot summer, of course. I mean, what choice do you have? It’s not a self-cleaning apartment. The dishes get done every day, the bathroom cleaned regularly, laundry washed, dried, folded and even put away. The bed gets made(ish) every second day or so.
But it’s the vacuuming that kills me. It’s not a giant apartment, but a giant cat lives there — a giant cat who sheds more than any cat known to man. And as much as he sheds, he eats. I’m talking fur, not food.
That’s right, Boo eats his own fur. Having never owned a cat before him, I don’t know if that’s ‘normal’ cat behaviour, but I’m thinking no. How could it be? Who eats their own fur!
I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. No good can come of this. Believe me, no good has. After he eats whatever fur he finds lying around the apartment, he waits a few days, lets it digest, and then, when neither of us is home, he chooses an optimal spot to throw it all back up in the form of a giant fur ball.
Talk about disgusting. Cleaning that up is a real treat.
So, as much as I hate to in the heat, vacuuming is a must. Daily. I relaxed that schedule last week, thinking it would be OK to skip a few days — until I came home to another giant hairball two days ago. Message received.
God I love summer.